Fate's Entourage
by lucifer ravana
Summary: A slew of drabbles that will grow until they encompass the world. All Enjolras/Grantaire 'centric. Oftentimes featuring Les Amis. Ranging from the trite to the fantastic. Mostly just me expressing my love for my favorite pairing in a variety of prompts.
1. Chapter 1

(AN: Figured I'd set something up for Enjolras/Grantaire pairing-centric drabbles as I did with my Marius/Eponine or Eponine-centric drabbles. These range from one-shots to several-parters, from serious to crack, from slight AUs to modern times. It'll be updated sporadically. I've got a ton of drabbles for the pairing, but a lot of them aren't exactly rated appropriately for this place. So I shall post what I can. If anyone is reading these, feel free to send me a shout out. Or even a prompt. I don't know.)

* * *

Anyone who has ever spoken out publicly knows that there are risk factors. Especially if one is embroiled within an underground war.

For one, you always had to know when you were being followed. And even then, you couldn't simply run away from your pursuers. You had to keep everything under control, as though you were innocent.

For another, you had to know how to take a bullet. This was a bit more complicated since upon the human body, if you had to take a bullet anywhere, it would be in the ass. There was more fat there, less nerves to accidentally hit, and the pain wouldn't be as intense. There was no internal organs that would bleed out while waiting to get the bullet removed.

There was one other issue when it came to bullets and that was to never remove them right away. When a bullet is fired and enters into the skin, it's hot. Should one remove that bullet right away, there's a risk factor of burning the skin and nerves within the hole. A person could do far more damage removing a bullet than leaving it in there, provided it wasn't inside a major internal organ. That being said, if a bullet was inside a major internal organ, you shouldn't even be touching the victim. You should be getting him to the hospital.

Enjolras had recited these rules to Grantaire before due to his friend's desire to try and keep Enjolras safe. There were plenty more rules to memorize as safety was paramount and they needed all men they could get for this army.

Grantaire, however, had taken a bullet. He also had something precious few people had when taking a bullet - time. He had seen the gun, had time enough to run to its intended victim, and time enough to catch the bullet with the part of his body that could handle said projectile.

Enjolras was rather proud at how Grantaire not only remembered what he had told him, but was quick enough to apply it. He wasn't surprised, of course. He always knew Grantaire had potential.

So he held Grantaire's hand as the bullet was carefully removed at the hospital. "Someone who wanted to start a riot," Enjolras had explained to the doctor. Grantaire was currently on laudanum and seeing talking penguins everywhere.

Others would be amused at the situation. Enjolras took it in stride. Grantaire had taken a bullet meant for him. This is not what was important. He knew the depth of Grantaire's devotion and love. What was important to Enjolras was that Grantaire took the bullet in such a way that would ensure his survival for another day. He did not throw himself madly into danger on impulse. He thought about his action and then moved.

Grantaire was starting to believe that his life was worth living. And through his speech on the penguins' migratory habits into France, Grantaire let Enjolras know that he fully intended on standing by Enjolras' side, bullet in the ass or no.

The less worry he saw within Enjolras' eyes, the happier Grantaire could be. And if his life was such a treasured force to Enjolras, then they both deserved more than dying due to some incendiary idiot on the street.

"With you," he said, gripping Enjolras' hand tightly, "or not at all."


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't like it."

"You don't need to." Combeferre's voice was gentle. He didn't like these sorts of conversations. For the most part, Enjolras' choices made life a great deal easier on him. While Courfeyrac and Bahorel would speak endlessly on mistresses and issues on love, Enjolras kept himself to himself. Joly and Bossuet had one another to speak to, but Joly would go to Combeferre for help on his studies and other personal matters and Bossuet would go to him for queries on Joly and how to handle an overworked physician in training. Jehan had his own personal quirks that he enjoyed extending to all of his friends, and sometimes he would show up unannounced at Combeferre's place in order to show him a new dance. Combeferre never questioned the matter. It was Jehan, after all.

Feuilly was the other one he could count on to keep himself in check. If Feuilly had an issue, he would often take it directly to Enjolras, and even then it normally dealt with the raising of weaponry or the recruitment of the working men. Which meant Enjolras would discuss the matter between Combeferre and Courfeyrac. It was business, never personal.

Enjolras was rarely personal unless Combeferre was the one breaching the subject matter with him.

Right now, the matter concerned Grantaire and his advances. The cynic had started disavowing drinking and moving closer and closer into Enjolras' personal space. Loathe as Combeferre was to indulge Grantaire at the expense of his friend, he did have to give the man some credit.

The problem was that Enjolras wasn't exactly sure what to do.

"I've allowed him close. I speak to him of the ideals. He knows what we fight for, but he doesn't believe in anything," Enjolras was saying. "I don't know how we would be right for one another. It would be best if I just left the relationship."

Combeferre ordinarily would have accepted this news as joyful, but at the quiet sadness within his friend, he found himself saying quite the opposite. "He believes in you. I think he's akin to me in a few regards. He must see the truth to know it. It's not enough to understand theories and conjecture for him. Just as I would've give credence one way or another toward the supernatural without physical proof, so would he guard himself against the folly of blind faith and trust. But it's to you he looks, not the Republic. And you are, as you have said before, the gateway. You can open up the path, yes, but you can't take him by hand and lead him through it. He has to do that on his own."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then you have someone who will stand by you regardless. Just as I would stand by you even if I didn't believe."

"This isn't a cult based on me," Enjolras argued, though his temper had long since left him and Combeferre was grateful that his friend no longer looked so lost.

"No, but you are the one who speaks of truths and freedom and justice. Some people cannot discern the difference between you and the cause. All in all, I'd put that down to you being a credible spokesman."

Enjolras sighed. "You want me to give him another chance."

"I want you to be happy, my friend. At least when it comes to being by your side, he won't be such a disappointment as he is in his political attempts."

After a moment, Enjolras finally nodded and Combeferre let out a breath he had been holding. He could only hope he led Enjolras down the right path. He couldn't stand to see the disappointments piling up between them, and a relationship was always a perilous path when Enjolras' first mistress would always be Patria.


	3. Chapter 3

(AN: E/R in the perspective of Gavroche.)

* * *

**1831**

Gavroche had seen his sister fall for a man once who didn't return her affections. Wondering if it would turn out to be the same way for Grantaire seemed like a sucker's game to him. Love and romance were all well and good when in their place, but right now, they had a revolution to win! Besides, what was the point in making googly eyes at someone if he never noticed you?

Then again, sometimes Enjolras didn't notice him either. So he had to adopt higher measures of getting the guy's attention.

Why didn't Grantaire just yank on his tailcoat or swing on his arm? That always worked for him.

**1832**

He had more of an idea now when it came to love. Eponine was still watching over Marius and Marius was watching over someone else. On his own personal front, he had two little brothers to look after and feed. Someone had to make sure they would be all right. The streets were tough to live on, and it made things easier when you had someone by your side.

Maybe that was one of the things that appealed to Grantaire. He just wanted company. Though it seemed like Enjolras' company was what he was trying to go for.

Still, there was a revolution to win! It was time to remove the government! Gavroche hoped that once the king had been taken down and the new government put in place, he'd be able to keep his elephant. Enjolras promised him that he would and he believed him.

Now if only he could convince Enjolras to give him a gun.

**1833**

The republic wasn't so bad. It was different, sure, and people seemed to be a lot happier when they agreed on how it would go. Gavroche kept his elephant and food was starting to become more plentiful, but he wasn't so sure he could keep his brothers safe from harm for too long, especially when the smallest took ill.

Grantaire was the one who fetched Combeferre for him to look over his brother. Enjolras had been there as well, and in order to not think about his brother's illness, Gavroche focused his attention on the strange interaction between Enjolras and Grantaire. They spoke in hushed whispers and Grantaire's face reddened when Enjolras touched his hand.

Grantaire reminded him of Eponine.

But Enjolras wasn't much like Marius. For one thing, the guy had guns and liked stirring the masses.

**1834**

Gavroche could remember the time before the revolution with startling clarity. Enjolras was pleased with this. "You'll be the reason for these things to never happen again. A final generation of gamin." Gavroche liked the sound of that. It made him feel special.

The street was still his home, but now he had a bed to reside rather than in the elephant. His brothers were well taken care of, and an education was being provided for him at Combeferre's insistence. Of course, he'd have much rather be off and about, gathering weapons or listening in on group meetings around the city regarding politics and the state of the Republic, but Enjolras told him that he'd have to learn how to read and write so that he could cuss people out that way rather than verbally.

Grantaire was a permanent fixture around the household and Gavroche didn't mind that. The two of them could do whatever they wanted so long as rent was paid on time and they kept the door shut whenever they went into the bedroom. Besides, it felt nice sometimes having Grantaire so concerned about his well-being. He would always say the same thing to him, of course.

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

Which was true. He was Gavroche, child of the streets. But he liked having a nest to rest his wings, and he liked knowing that he was helping to keep this weird little family together.


	4. Chapter 4

_When I'm tired and thinking cold_  
_I hide in my music, forget the day_  
_And dream of a girl I used to know_  
_I closed my eyes and she slipped away_

_-More Than A Feeling_

The years had passed. Nothing changed.

People rose up in groups, always separate, always disorganized. Riots and mobs that hadn't been planned. Groups arrested without them once springing into action. Frustrations grew. Tempers started to rage. There was no more calm talks. The speeches in the streets had grown furious, calling for blood.

He wondered what Enjolras would think of it all, while knowing he had no right to think of Enjolras.

He had woken up too late and had sat with the cooling corpse. He told the men, when they came, what to do with the body. He was let out of prison three months later, knowing that he would have stayed in longer if they had any evidence concerning him. They didn't. He visited the grave site in Marseilles before returning to Paris, thinking it was damned unfortunate that Enjolras should be buried away from his friends.

Damned unfortunate.

He wanted to die.

Disjointed thoughts came to him here and there, nothing sticking around for long. Sometimes he forgot when to drink. Sometimes he forgot when to change his clothes. He never forgot their names, their faces, or what they stood for.

He saw innocence lying dead in the Corinthe. After that, the revolution changed. Lost without its leading archangel, the spilling of blood became commonplace. It became corrupted, tainted. Men without morals who desired only to seize their own bit of power, to reinstate a Republic so that they could rise above. They, not the whole.

Never the whole.

The world became a playground for the cynics. He wondered if this was what Enjolras had seen as penance for the failure of the people who failed to rise in '32. Homes were being invaded. The bourgeois wasn't safe anymore. The righteous anger of the barricades had been replaced with the fury of the moment. People cried for murder, for blood to run in the streets. It was an era of ill-conceived plans, tempests that destroyed more than they cultivated. What should have been beautiful was left in the dust.

Grantaire thought that the angel had fled so all there was no consisted of levels of hell.

But there were times when the sun began to rise just over the city landscape that he could see what Enjolras saw. It wasn't hope found in a scrap of bread that a gamin held to stave off death for another day. It was far more vast than that. It began with the colors that surrounded the city, the darkness fading back and the sun bathing the city in red and yellows. It was found in the air that breathed new life into the trees at the end of winter. It was found in the common statement that life went on. That the world would still wake up for another day, that it hadn't stopped spinning, and that no matter how great the tide of anger was, life would continue.

For better or worse.

And in those precious moments of victory over his own soul, those moments when Grantaire felt the only slim shreds of peace, that he could see Enjolras' visage, just out of reach. Eternally looking over the city and people he loved.

And eternally fading away from him.


	5. Chapter 5

(AN: And sometimes I write fantastical garbage. It really depends. Honestly, guys, go read Bearit or Ancslove. They're talented writers. Why are you here?)

* * *

Enjolras had a dog.

There were times when he still wished he had a dog.

Back when the gendarmes weren't called because Grantaire had forgotten his training and pissed on a street corner.

Back when the neighbors weren't complaining about Grantaire's howling-turned-singing late at night.

Back when Combeferre wasn't trying to figure out the lines between dog-turning-human and human slavery.

Back when Grantaire was a large, sometimes drooling creature of habit who bounded alongside his owner's legs to serve as protection or a companion.

But there were times when Enjolras truly didn't mind the transition. Such as when Grantaire learned how to speak and the way he said his name.

Or when Grantaire would chase off said gendarmes with threats of rabies.

Or when Grantaire's terrible singing that still sounded like howls drove out the noise of a few Buonopartists arguing with others in the street.

But most of all, the cold nights when Grantaire would still curl up in bed with Enjolras. While they had not been intimate, the unending love and devotion that had been with Grantaire-the-dog had transferred onto Grantaire-the-human. And while a dog could love its owner unconditionally, a human could choose to love another unconditionally.

Grantaire had made his choice.

And that's why Enjolras would always prefer his human self to his former dog.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Grantaire attempts to give flowers to Enjolras.

* * *

Attempt #1

Left flowers on the table right where he sits.

Jehan mistook them for a gift for himself.

Was too embarrassed to tell him that they weren't for him. Will let the little guy think I admire him.

Mental note. Sign Enjolras' name next time.

Attempt #17

Signed Enjolras' name. Left them by his door. Combeferre found them.

Forgot to sign my own name. He thought they were from the girl who lives below them. He threw them into the garbage. I'm sure he means well, but he can be a prick sometimes.

Attempt #28

Waited for him at the Musain tonight. He came in, saw me, and left.

Think he's still a little irritated at the whole Barriere du Maine thing. Threw away the bouquet I had hidden under the table.

Attempt #34

Followed him home.

There were three men who also followed him. He broke the jaw of one, broke the arm of the second, and the third?

I took the third.

Beat him with the bouquet.

Enjolras told me to get a club instead. Dangerous times and all that.

Am starting to think this flower business is ridiculous.

Attempt #42

No one really notices me.

This is the third time around, and it doesn't get any easier.

A stray gunshot after a call for ceasefire. It went through him far too easily, cutting right through his heart as though aimed by fate herself, and he keeled over dead.

The rest were quick to follow, like a morbid pile of dominoes, and I'm left alone. Again.

The service was nice, I guess. He's always well-loved, well-respected. Granted, the turnout was smaller than the other times, but the people are furious at his demise and took up arms in his cause, and I'm left sitting in the chapel, holding a white rose, and waiting.

It never gets easier. Even knowing that it's not the end, it's still heartbreaking having to see him fall time and time again. I never know where or when it's coming either. People enjoy destroying men of peace.

The revolution eats him alive and he, in turn, devours revolution. I still don't understand it.

All I can do is wait.

Ah, there we go.

He sits up in his coffin, looking mildly perturbed as he inspects his body before turning to me.

"It's a good thing it's just me in here this time," I say to lighten the mood. The previous time an old woman had been in the church and had dropped down dead of a heart attack at the seemingly burnt alive man came back to life, looking every bit as unharmed as any young, twenty-something year old man.

Enjolras had felt guilty.

I just laughed until it turned into hysterics.

This time around, I extended the rose to him, wondering at which point its petals turned red.

He finally took it, a small clipping of all the flowers others had brought to the funeral. I did not pay for this. But it felt right. And his hand clasped my own.

"There is much still to do," he said.

And I?

I followed.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Established E/R deal with their families.

* * *

Certain circumstances prevented Enjolras from meeting Grantaire's family in any way resembling normal.

He met Grantaire's older brother through interrogation. The man was a monarchist and close to the king. The information Enjolras received from him was sparse and it just didn't seem like the time to introduce himself as Grantaire's lover.

He never got to meet Grantaire's father since the man, also a monarchist, up and left the country after the revolution. What was left behind went to Grantaire due to the inconspicuous vanishing of Grantaire's elder brother.

Grantaire felt very nervous when he met Enjolras' father, who was the spitting image of Enjolras, save for broader shoulders and short hair. The man greeted Grantaire with a vague detachment but was pleased when he heard that Grantaire was one of Enjolras' people. All the same, he concluded their announcement of being together with a shrug and a, "But did you bring about the revolution yet, boy?" to Enjolras.

Grantaire saw the family resemblance went more than skin deep.

But it was Enjolras' mother that Grantaire took so well to. She provided him with what he needed to get by, allowed Enjolras some time off from his activities to be with Grantaire, and made sure both boys knew they were treasured by ensuring they spent time with like-minded friends.

After all, what were Republics for?


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Hesitated on posting this. The prompt was that Joly has Walking Dead syndrome and Enjolras becomes a woman while sleeping with Grantaire. As such, it churned out this. I have strange friends. And then I figured, well, it's not like anyone's reading these things. I could probably post the lyrics of Mary Had a Little Lamb between lines of Grantaire making oogly eyes at Enjolras and no one would care. I'm so tempted

* * *

"I think I have a cold."

Bossuet wasn't surprised. Joly came down with a cold every other week. But this week was different. This week Bossuet's aunt had sent him a gift in the post. He had been expecting money and received a journal instead.

'For your studies,' the note had said.

Bossuet, who rarely attended classes and even more rarely took notes, intended to regift the journal to Joly or even Musichetta at some point. This week, he had a better idea. He would record Joly's various ailments.

Why?

Because it was something to do while waiting for the meetings to get underway and because he had little desire to hear Grantaire's false boosts of how he managed to sleep with another woman.

Day 1- Joly claims to have a cold. Demonstrating normal symptoms. Runny nose. Sore throat. Headache.

"I slept with two women last night!" Grantaire exclaimed.

Day 3 - Joly claims that his cold is now not only very contagious, but that it's rapidly progressing into influenza. Despite this, he is still at the meeting.

"Four women! Each one more beautiful than the last. You should have been there!"

Day 5 - Joly believes that he is dying. He is writing his own eulogy and has implored me to do the same. On our downtime, he looks at the prices of wreathes and has told me he will be leaving everything he owns to me, except a set amount of money that will go to the Republic.

"Is Enjolras looking my way? I think he just looked at me. Did he hear me?"

Day 7 - Joly is dead. Only he's still sitting next to me and imbibing drinks. He's paying so I don't point out to him that dead people don't drink. He claims a miracle is slowly taking place even as he explains the stages of decomposition. Will not eat for a week.

"You won't believe what happened last night! I finally slept with him! …It's not normal for someone to change genders while they're in bed together, right? Not that I minded, I mean. Perfect curves. Large assets. Oh hell, he's coming in now. I said nothing!"

Day 10- Joly still believes he is dead. He still goes to his classes. He says that it's part of his punishment. Apparently he's going through some form of purgatory. If I had to suffer through medical school, I'm sure it would be purgatory for me too.

"We did it again. He's serious about this. I'm fine with that. Let the world know that Capital R is now taken! Alas, poor women. They will miss me!"

Day 14- Joly has been talking to Jehan about his condition. Jehan has become an enabler and frequently asks Joly what he sees within the afterlife. I think Jehan genuinely believes this. I tried talking to Enjolras about Joly's issue, but he only asked if Joly was still capable of being an outstanding lieutenant of the Republic. I asked him if zombies could shoot straight. He said that so long as their limbs weren't rotting off, then yes. I don't know if he's kidding. Will have to ask Combeferre.

"My life. It is beautiful. Let me tell you about how beautiful my life is right now."

Day 20 - Joly now believes he has past purgatory and someone above is casting a judgment upon himself. He's waiting for said judgment. Personally, I think he's waiting for Combeferre to make up his mind about what to tell him. I hope Combeferre is blunt with him. Sometimes Joly just can't take a hint.

"Gonna start moderating my drinking starting to-day! A few girls gave me some looks, but I told them, 'Sorry, ladies, I'm a taken man.' I think that ups my appeal. Where did Bahorel say to buy those pants from again?"

Day 30 - Combeferre was joking around. He told Joly that since he still walked, talked, and seemed to breathe, his existence was nothing short of a miracle. Joly now feels like he's an angel. Enjolras asked if angels can shoot straight. Sometimes my friends worry me.

"Joly, I need to borrow one of your medical textbooks."

Day 35 - Joly's miracles are becoming unbearable. I'm starting to be a little embarrassed for him. He tried multiplying fish for the workmen today. Feuilly ranted at him for what felt like an eternity. I tried to cheer him up afterwards. Apparently angels can still give great head. Who'd have known?

"I think I may have impregnated Enjolras."

Joly beamed. "You see? I can work miracles!"


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Prompt was Enjolras and Grantaire meeting as kids. Also, thank you to those who have reviewed. You guys are wonderful people who helped cheer me up during a particularly depressing month. Much love.

* * *

Grantaire was fifteen when he first met Enjolras. He wasn't sure how he felt about gaining a younger brother. His mother seemed happy about the marriage, and he had to admit that he couldn't care less about his former father. The man was better off dead just as his mother was better off not being beaten.

Her new husband seemed far nicer, though Grantaire had only ever met him twice before.

"I have a son three years younger than him. I'm sure they'll get on well."

The two boys couldn't have been further apart in looks. Grantaire had long since hit his growth spurt and was broadening fairly quickly. "You'll grow better now that we'll be able to make ends meet," his mother had promised him. Dark in features, he stood at a sharp contrast to Enjolras and his father, both of whom sported golden hair and pale complexions. While Enjolras Snr. was hitting his stride and couldn't hide the lines under his eyes just as much as he couldn't hide the love he clearly felt for Grantaire's mother, his son was far more reserved.

Enjolras was a quiet boy and Grantaire figured he'd be difficult to get to know.

He found Enjolras in the library while the others were still celebrating.

"What are you reading?" He asked, trying to make some form of conversation.

"Hamilton."

"What'd he write about?"

"Society. Treatises on man and the upbringing of societies and why certain cultures work the way they do."

"Sounds dull." So his new younger brother was a bookworm. He could already see himself fending off Enjolras' attackers because of that rather than his looks. "I read too. Art books, mainly. Picasso." It was the first name that popped into his head and for some reason, he dearly wanted to impress this kid.

Younger brothers are meant to look up to their older brothers.

"Art is useless."

So much for that. "It isn't!"

"Art has no bearing on advancement. It's simply a product of what is rather than what we can make civilization as a whole."

"It still isn't useless. It still has a purpose."

"Fine. Useless to my ends then."

Grantaire supposed he could concede to that. "And what are your ends?"

"I haven't yet decided on them. But they involve progress and not pretty."

"Anything involving you would be pretty," Grantaire noted under his breath, and was thankful when Enjolras didn't look up. He thought about bringing up schools and how they would be going there together. Or perhaps about sneaking outside to run through the immense backyard after taking off their shoes. Or going back into the room, dive under the tables to steal napkins off of laps.

He didn't think Enjolras would care to do any of these things. So instead he said, "I heard there will be a political rally in town on Thursday."

Enjolras looked up from his book at long last. Grantaire noted that he had the clearest blue eyes he'd ever seen. "Father won't let me go."

"He will if I'm there with you. As an escort or as a protector. I can tell him we're bonding or something."

Enjolras frowned a little in puzzlement. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you want to go. And you need to show me around this town anyway. Besides, it's my job to look after you now and take you to places you want to go."

Enjolras contemplated this and Grantaire was a little unnerved to see such a small kid casually assess his value. Finally, Enjolras nodded. "Agreed."

"Great." Grantaire gave him a beaming smile. "And afterwards, I'll teach you how to blow up a bullfrog!"


	10. Chapter 10

AN: AU, of course.

* * *

July 8, 1832

"Was it worth it?" Grantaire asked, fingers wrapped around the prison bars. His clothes reeked of sweat and alcohol. He had stood up at the right time and the wrong sequence of events had come about afterwards. The firing squad was told to stand down, and they found themselves clapped in chains rather than inundated with bullets.

Enjolras sat on the small cot in the prison cell, his gaze focused on the far wall. He looked at nothing and he hadn't changed expression since the order had been given for their arrest.

Grantaire turned back to face him.

"Was it worth it, Enjolras?"

The sound of his name snapped Enjolras out of his trance and he focused on Grantaire.

"Losing our friends," Grantaire continued, as though Enjolras had spoken to him. "Seeing them all die. And you must have seen them die. Nevermind about that, I got to hear about it all. Bahorel. His body laid out before us like a bad omen. Jehan, giving over his last words to this failed revolution. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, all the rest of them, just toy soldiers to be shot down in the peak of their lives!"

His words got louder. He strode over to the cot and leaned down, hands on either side of it as he looked Enjolras in the eye.

"You speak of the march of progress. You speak of how we must suffer in order to advance the lives of others. Where are those others now? Still in the gutter! And where are our friends? In the gutter along with them, only there's no escape for them! They're dead, Enjolras! Dead!"

Enjolras didn't blink.

"Was it worth it?" Grantaire asked again, pulling back just a bit. "Was it worth their sacrifice?"

Enjolras, knowing full well what Grantaire wanted to hear, saw no reason to deny him. "Yes."

And Grantaire's shoulders unclenched as he knelt down next to the cot and sobbed. "Speak to me," he pleaded.

"You are uninterested in politics, Grantaire. What shall I speak to you about?"

"About whatever is on your mind." Grantaire reached up and grasped hold of Enjolras' hand.

Enjolras moved himself off the cot and placed a friendly arm around Grantaire's shoulders. "Shall I speak to you of how proud you made me in what should have been our final moments? Shall I speak to you of our sacrifices and how the tides will change? Shall I speak to you of the future? It won't be that long, Grantaire. A year goes by in a flash. Five years will be gone when you blink. Ten years, the world will change. Humanity is forever evolving. It used to be that we were just split into two groups. Hunters and gatherers. Look at how far we've come. We have further still to go because it will never end. We will always change, even in the depths of stagnation, we will change and we will grow. Pity those who try to stop the march of progress, Grantaire. Pity those who are truly dead but still walk about thinking that they live. Pity them but do not pity our friends. Unlike so many, they lived their lives. They lived and died in a freedom that so many could only ever dream of. They will be envied in the years to come because things will not improve from here on out. They have only made matters worse for themselves. The blood of our friends is a curse laid upon them now. They have dug their own graves and we sought to grant them a chance out of ignorance, out of this enforced, lingering version of slavery. I feel sorry for them, Grantaire, but I do not feel sorry for us. In here, in this cell, we have our freedom."

Grantaire's tears ceased flowing and he worried that he might bruise Enjolras' hand.

"Speak to me about your Patria then," he said, his voice no longer shaking either with anger or sadness.

"She is still so beautiful, Grantaire. Perhaps one day, you will see her yourself. Once the absinthe has finished running its course through your veins. Once you no longer harbor any delusions that we are the unfortunate ones. Then, you will see her. And to see her is to know her. And to know her is to love her."


	11. Chapter 11

AN: The prompt was concerning Enjolras' father walking in on E/R having sex. Despite the prompt, this is rated T. One day, I might put up more of my graphic whatnot elsewhere. I do wonder just how many chapters I'll end up putting into this series. Maybe I'll stop when it's 50k words and make something new. Any suggestions? Who would even read 50 chapters of E/R anyway? ...I would. But I'm not reading my own stuff, so..

* * *

They were finally alone, and the quiet felt stifling after the noise of before. Grantaire had scrambled to put on his pants and hastily rushed for the door to give Enjolras and his father a chance to talk. Enjolras moved with a lesser sense of purpose, considering their latest activity and his lack of fear when it came to his father.

M. Enjolras waited patiently for his son to finish dressing.

"Does he share your ideals?"

Enjolras looked a little sheepish now. "He believes in me."

This earned him a raised eyebrow. "Tell me that you're not building a cult. What of the revolution?"

"It's still coming. These things just take time. You know that. And no, not a cult. He's a friend. He's…"

"A lover."

Enjolras shrugged. Labels for relationships never mattered much to him. Grantaire and he were lovers, Grantaire and he were friends. Grantaire was a great deal more to him than he could describe. "Yes, but not above the Republic."

"I don't doubt that." M. Enjolras moved forward and touched his son's knee. "I don't doubt your commitment to the cause. And if you chose him to be so close to you, then I'll have to take assurance in the fact that you know what you're doing. You're a man now, free to make your own choices, and cultivate whatever lifestyle you so choose. When you left Marseille, I believed that you knew what you were doing, what path you had to go down, and where to turn. I believed you could keep yourself alive considering your training. I believed in you."

"As does Grantaire."

"Is that his name? Then I suppose you're in good hands. The rules still apply as before." He gave his son's knee a gentle squeeze. "Do not come home until you've toppled the Palais."

Enjolras offered the man a meager smile. "I won't."

"Now then," M. Enjolras withdrew his hand and leaned back. "I can't deny I'm a bit disappointed. I would have thought that the son I had raised and trained so well would be the one on top."


	12. Chapter 12

AN: So I guess in anyone's writing 'career' on , they need to do a crossover of sorts. Here's one of mine. It's AU and a bit crack-y. Also, have been thinking about putting up a few epilogue drabbles for A View for the Future. Does anyone even bother with that fic anymore?

And thank you to all those who have reviewed. Seriously, some of them left me in tears. You guys are the best.

* * *

It started with chloroform.

It took years for Enjolras to finally forgive Grantaire for drugging him and getting him on a boat to England in order to avoid the horrors of the barricade. Enjolras hadn't heard the man wake up from his stupor, slip down from the Corinthe when the others had been ordered to sleep, and come up behind him with the rag.

"You'll like England," Grantaire had explained. "It has a monarchy that you can overthrow!" Of course, he had mentioned this while they were on the ship heading into England so there was little Enjolras could do about his current predicament. Swimming through the ocean just wasn't feasible.

They had landed, and Enjolras had tried to immediately return. Grantaire, however, was holding the purse strings, and Enjolras stood out a bit too much to even contemplate being a stowaway.

Stuck in England, Enjolras had attempted to make the best of a bad situation.

It got even worse when Grantaire found a strange golden object that resembled a pocketwatch. He had given it to Enjolras to make up for the one Enjolras had lost, and when trying to get the correct time, they found themselves a bit out of sorts.

Harry Potter wasn't exactly sure how it happened. Those details were pieced together much later. Right now, he was rather floored that two muggles had not only called together other muggles, but they had also turned the wreckage of Hogwarts into what could only be described as a barricade.

They were doing fairly well for themselves, shooting down the wizards from dark alcoves before a spell could be cast.

Perhaps he shouldn't have spent so much time out in the woods. Perhaps he shouldn't have paused for the trip to visit his parents in Godric's Hollow. Regardless of the circumstances, he had little choice but to try and fly over the barricade.

This was not an easy task as quite a few of those muggles were rather accomplished marksmen. An exploding bullet hit the back of his broom and he crashlanded in a heap close to where Gryffindor tower used to reside.

A blond man stood over him and kicked Harry's wand out of his hand.

"Why?" Harry asked, blinking blearily at the man who couldn't be older than twenty.

"Because we are not your playthings. Because we are all humans in the end, and those that choose to live in secret while exterminating us from shadows aren't our friends."

The blond man ordered Harry tied up and placed in the Great Hall. There, Harry's only companion was a man guzzling down a pint of butterbeer.

"The more things change," the man said with a grin, "the more they stay the same. But at least we'll win this one, eh?"


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Prompt was just for E/R hurt and comfort. Established relationship.

* * *

Of all the Amis, Grantaire was the least likely to see Enjolras as human. Even when Enjolras had smiled at him, had invited him to share the night after months of chaste kisses and not so chaste touches, Grantaire found it difficult to see him as anything close to a human.

Marble chipped easily, though. He, an artist, should have known better.

Grantaire had never seen anyone on the verge of life and death before. The nights that he stayed by Enjolras' side, he could swear he saw wings upon the back of his lover, could swear he could see the man's soul, hear his heart beat, a slow and not nearly steady enough pace.

Combeferre had extracted the bullet. The resulting wound ended up infected. Grantaire blamed himself even though Combeferre told him it was hardly his fault. Whomever had shot Enjolras had left him in the gutter to die. A wound, steeped in filth, had a stronger chance of becoming infected.

"Still," Grantaire argued, "I should have found him."

Gavroche was the one who found him. He had notified the Amis in the Musain.

There was no chance of a hospital. Gunshots were strictly between them. The doctors would ask too many questions and Combeferre held no doubts that Enjolras would be locked up, ill or healthy.

Sometimes Grantaire couldn't stay within the same room as his lover. His guilt was not too much to bear. The problem was the humanity was too close to the surface. Enjolras was wounded, vulnerable, and Grantaire was stuck on the edge of a fence, forced to acknowledge that Enjolras could very well prove himself to be too human, too fragile and die. He would be left alone, without any more motivation to keep living. To acknowledge such a flaw in Enjolras would be to acknowledge the hope within himself.

He believed in Enjolras. Thus, he had hope that Enjolras would see himself through. It had nothing to do with revolutions or republics and everything to do with the man behind the ideal.

He missed Enjolras' voice most of all.

On the night when Enjolras took a turn for the worse, Combeferre had been there for his patient and friend.

But Grantaire had been ushered out of the room so that Combeferre, and Joly when he arrived, could treat the fever and the delirium. Grantaire could still hear the whip-like words, delivered at such a speed, talking about golden lands and Patria.

Always Patria.

Patria, the one who demanded Enjolras' life and death at her whim. Patria, an ideal that Grantaire could never come close to reaching.

His fists clenched, his jaw tightened, and he wanted to scream out his rage at the injustice of it all. He wanted Enjolras to wake up and face this hypocrisy. Who was he to speak of equality and the rising of all mankind when he couldn't do the same for himself? When he thought his life was just another drop in the bucket so that others could rise only after he had fallen? Who was he to chase after some bitch who would only leave him to die alone?

For that matter, what good was France when it dismissed its most treasured and gifted warrior? What good was an ideal that required broken bodies, dreams, and hearts? Enjolras would give his life for his dream, and if not his life than his time and energy. He would wither away underneath it all, thinking of himself as not being one of the worthy ones who could stay alive even after all was said and done.

For that matter, where did Grantaire fit in? He had to sit here, in another room, and watch as his lover gave his all to an uncaring, unfeeling mistress. How he loved to hear Enjolras talk as it fulfilled a part within himself that he never knew existed, and yet at the same time, how he hated this bitch for digging her claws into Enjolras' skin and bones and yanking him this way and that.

It should not be Enjolras' fate to die from some armed ruffian in the street. It should not be Enjolras' fate to die at all.

The door opened and Combeferre stepped out, his fingers bloody. He stopped short when he saw Grantaire's face. "The fever broke. You can go back in there now."

Grantaire considered leaving. Let Enjolras make of that what he will.

But he wouldn't. Because he knew addictions all too well. And just as he was sometimes lost to the bottle, he knew that Enjolras was lost to his cause. He stepped back into the room and embraced that beautiful, still-warm body and even smiled a bit when Enjolras rested his forehead on Grantaire's shoulder.

"Not this time," Enjolras whispered.

No, not this time, Grantaire silently agreed. But perhaps next time. Or the time after that. He could only be there to see Enjolras through it.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: So someone finally ended up requesting the inevitable mpreg prompt. This one has slash. Not graphic, but graphic enough. It's not the basis of the drabble, of course. My apologies to Hugo. In other news, have finally decided to start clearing up my account. Will be deleting a few fics. Just the ones that have no reviews, so no need to worry. I just think that it's time.

* * *

"You're not going to catch anything."

"Courfeyrac caught something the third time around."

"Neither of us have slept with as many people as Courfeyrac."

"Still, there are other issues we should consider."

"I'm clean, Enjolras."

Enjolras had still seemed hesitant until Grantaire's mouth was around him, and all protests died once Grantaire buried himself inside the other man, his mouth upon Enjolras' in a desperate kiss. They did not make love that day. They fucked. Enjolras was sore for several days after and Grantaire had himself an air of impenetrable smugness.

Two months later and their world came crashing down.

"You are kidding me," Grantaire whispered, pacing the course of Enjolras' living room.

"I wouldn't kid about this."

"Enjolras, I don't mean to doubt your intelligence," Grantaire chose his words carefully and visibly winced when Enjolras turned a furious gaze upon him, "but you do know that you are male, right?"

"I have noticed a few things."

"Males cannot get pregnant."

"Nevertheless I am."

"And you don't see anything wrong with this?"

"I see plenty of things wrong with this! For one, we're in the middle of a revolution! I can't afford to take any time off to manage such affairs! And can you imagine the scorn of the child will receive? We aren't even married! Granted, societal obligations shouldn't matter at all when the society is wrong and corrupt, but all the same-"

"No, no, Enjolras." Grantaire knelt down so that he was at eye level with Enjolras who was sitting on the couch. "I meant that men cannot get pregnant."

"Well, I am."

"And you've been tested?"

"Yes. Discreetly. By both Joly and Combeferre."

This changed things and Grantaire's face fell. Joly he could see playing such a trick on Enjolras. It was a harmless joke, really. But Combeferre? He wouldn't do anything to cause Enjolras distress. Grantaire, certainly, but not Enjolras. "Then what is it you wish to do?" And part of him could not believe he was having such a conversation with his lover.

His very male lover.

Enjolras looked away, and in that moment Grantaire saw not the formulation of doubts which was to be expected from anyone who wasn't named Enjolras but the forming of a plan.

"It was never my goal to have children, but it would be nice if the newest generation could have a home within our new Republic. You know I detest the unnecessary spilling of blood. Let us be pragmatic for a moment, yes? Say I was to keep the child. Measures would have to be taken. It would need to be kept quiet for the most part. Our friends could know, no one else."

"It's not as though you eat much," Grantaire muttered. "Clothing could be provided, I suppose. Loose clothing."

Grantaire tried not to think about having a proper home with Enjolras, a dog, and their child running about, and how he hoped the kid would have more of Enjolras' features than his own. He thought he would be a very good father, really. Once he had given up drinking, perhaps. He would teach the kid sports and give the kid a classical education and encourage him or her in the arts. And he or she would call him papa or father, he wasn't sure just yet.

And oh, he was already thinking about it.

Enjolras was mentioned guns now so he forced himself to pay attention and blinked. "Did you just compare our child to ammunition?"

"When it comes to hoarding, yes. I just need to know if you will stay by my side throughout all of this."

Again, those images came back to Grantaire and he found himself smiling despite the strangeness of the situation. He could see Enjolras teaching the kid how to shoot a rifle. Perhaps the kid would inherit his father's speech patterns, and every new word he or she learned would sound like a sonnet.

A goofy sentimental smile worked its way up to his face and he caught himself blushing. "I'll be there," he promised to both his lover and his unborn child.


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Was not prepared for the deluge of reviews! Just...wow! Thank you, guys! Just makes me want to write more. The prompt for this one was: Enjolras is the archangel Michael and Grantaire is Lucifer. And I have to admit that I loved writing it. Fantastical things make me very happy.

* * *

"If you will permit it."

The bullets ripped through the two men. One remained standing. The other fell at his feet.

The National Guardsmen slowly lowered their weaponry.

Enjolras' hand twitched. Without a sound, he prised himself from the wall, his blood falling in rivulets down his chest, a few droplets landing on Grantaire's face. The last thing the Guardsmen saw were two immense red wings pushing themselves out of the back of the man they had just shot.

"Bravo," Grantaire said, standing up and applauding. "Just bravo! It is good to see you back in action. Lately I was thinking that you would be nothing but a rabble-rouser. Been around humans too often to be much use to them in any other form."

Enjolras wiped away the blood from his hands, his wings coming to rest around his body. The eight bullets that had entered into his chest dropped to the floor. "It was not my place to change. This was how they had to be led."

"To their deaths," Grantaire grinned.

"Yes. To their deaths." Enjolras' voice was flat but calm, and he finally turned to face Grantaire. The drunkard, now standing straight, was still smiling only now the corners of his mouth twitched just a bit in hesitation. Fighting with an archangel was never easy. Fighting with Enjolras tended to result in a mighty big headache. "And I will have to do it again since this revolt was unsuccessful."

Grantaire scoffed. "Oh, you and your failures. You haven't got much, have you? Aren't you supposed to be an instrument of fate? A tool to humans? You weave yourself in and out of humanity, inciting them, fighting with them. Now you're on the losing side, and He would allow you to fall, wouldn't he? Let us be honest with ourselves now. He gave you clear instruction. And apparently His instruction ended in the loss of all the lives you see around us."

Enjolras watched the other angel with a calm demeanor. "Granted, this was not what I had planned, but it is not on His shoulders that blame should reside, but on the part of humans. Not all of them rose."

"Because they are worthless."

"Because they are afraid, Grantaire. Afraid because they do not have faith in themselves."

"Ah, I'm glad you did not say faith in Him!"

Enjolras just shook his head. "It is they that must rise. He granted them the ability to soar, but not all of them know they can do so. And what of you, Grantaire?" Here Enjolras took a step closer to Grantaire.

"What of me?" Grantaire stayed where he stood, not daring to advance but not wanting to back off.

"You followed me, did you not? You normally try to get others to follow you, to fall where you fell."

Grantaire set his jaw.

"Once the most beautiful-"

"And now you outshine me," Grantaire spat out, his grin severely diminished. "He tossed you down here to be with the humans. He threw you out. You just didn't fall far enough."

"I don't believe I fell at all." Enjolras reached out and touched Grantaire's hair. "You've been with me for a long time now. I've seen your looks. And I could spot lies. Your hesitation in asking me if you could die with me was not a falsity."

"I am not part of your flock," Grantaire said, pushing aside Enjolras' hand while at the same time wishing the archangel was still touching him.

"No. I think you'd be more keen on being my disciple. Perhaps in the next revolt, I will grant you your chance."

"Next revolt?" Grantaire laughed. "The people won't thank you for another loss of life."

It was Enjolras' turn to grin now. It was gentle, almost loving. "Who says I'm here solely for them?"

And then in a haze of red and gold, the archangel was gone, leaving one long red feather in his wake.

Grantaire couldn't help himself as he reached down and picked it up, tucking it into his waistcoat with a fondness that should have been burned out of him long ago.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Sorry for lack of updates. Real life just got kinda lousy. So yeah, Enjolras adopts a dog. Established relationship.

* * *

Typically a cat-person, Enjolras had nothing against man's best friend. Especially not when man's best friend had quite a love for him. Dogs were normally fantastic in times of war or hardship. Some would wear a cask of gin around their necks to help out people frozen in snow. Others would pull sleds. Others would carry messages back and forth across enemy lines.

Enjolras' dog would bring him newspapers.

This was the one and only trick the dog could learn, and it took over a month of training to get the animal to not bring up the newspapers chewed up.

Enjolras, thankfully, had the patience of a saint and accepted the admittedly wet newspaper with a quick shake to get off the excess drool and run through the periodicals.

The problem was with women. Enjolras typically chased them off with a glare. The dog simply chased after them. He had heard enough from the gendarmes about his animal and had dismissed them summarily as being not only wrong in his ownership of the dog, but also because he suspected them as being able to stifle not only the human population but the animal kingdom.

"Perhaps if prices were lowered on bread, one could afford treats," Enjolras had countered. "And then the dog wouldn't be so keen on finding his own."

Said treats were stockings. Enjolras wasn't sure where the dog took them. Courfeyrac had bravely volunteered his services and Enjolras had merely shrugged. Courfeyrac lasted a full five minutes before the dog managed to lose him.

The stockings were soon unearthed anyway as the dog happily brushed into the Musain to deliver them to Enjolras, much to the amusement of the patrons and the Amis. Enjolras accepted them with his typical stoicism, placing them on one of the empty chairs beside himself while continuing to read. Occasionally, he'd reach out to pet the dog's woolly head and let the beast nose his fingers should the petting pause.

Grantaire was the only one who didn't share in the amusement of the Amis. It was foolish, really, to be jealous of a dumb animal, but every time the dog interrupted Enjolras' writing for pettings or when the beast insisted on tagging along with Enjolras whenever he was to make a speech only to howl at the most inopportune times, Grantaire couldn't help but feel a bit left out.

Perhaps he should start howling.

Or shift onto his back to demand belly rubs whenever Enjolras was sitting up in bed, trying to sketch out new plans for the future.

Or whining at Enjolras whenever he had to take a piss whenever his lover was in mid-coitus when him.

No, wait. He wouldn't do that last one. That was just too sacred.

Combeferre, who had once suggested that perhaps the dog could be trained to sense gendarmes and warn them with a howl whenever one was nearby, noted the frown on Grantaire's face. While he didn't fully approve of the relationship between Grantaire and Enjolras, he did want his friend to be happy. And an unhappy Grantaire could make an unhappy Enjolras, so he went over to his friend and nudged him gently.

Enjolras looked up with a raised eyebrow.

"Your friend looks put out and he hasn't touched a drop today."

Enjolras gave Grantaire a quick glance back and Grantaire hastily dropped his eyes, hoping Enjolras didn't see the pining look he was giving him. Enjolras marked the spot in his book and stood up.

The words that passed between himself and Grantaire were too quiet for the others to hear, but they made Grantaire smile and clasp his hand before remembering where they were and hastily letting go.

"Come, Grantaire," Enjolras finally said, holding open the door for the other man. "You as well, Capital R."

The dog launched himself up from the floor beside Enjolras' chair and bounded across the floor, knocking over a few chairs along the way, its mouth open and tongue hanging out in happiness.

It was an odd relationship, Combeferre figured, but he supposed it worked. And Grantaire wasn't such a bad influence after all.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: This was an interesting prompt. Each of Les Amis gets to spend one day with Enjolras per week. Not as, erm, graphic as one would believe.

* * *

It had been Courfeyrac who brought up the idea to Enjolras. Combeferre originally wanted to do so but he wasn't sure of the appropriate wording to use.

Courfeyrac knew all too well.

He walked step in step with Enjolras one bright sunny day in the middle of June of '28. "They all love you, you know."

"They?" Enjolras walked with his head up, his gaze downcast. While it was difficult to know when he was listening to reality or when he was lost in his own dreams, Courfeyrac never doubted for a second that Enjolras was hearing him.

"Our friends. Our group. I suppose we're all a little bit in love with one another. It's the sort of love that keeps to the years. We're not afraid of growing old together, if the case turns out that we're granted that particular pleasure. Should we succeed-"

"When we succeed."

"When we succeed, I doubt we'll ever grow apart. We're bonded together by more than just our cause. We genuinely love each of our personalities. It's thicker than blood. Thicker than water. Thicker than mud."

Enjolras paused. "You're getting at something."

"I am." Enjolras could hear the smile in Courfeyrac's voice. "Caesar was a great leader. Do you know why?" He continued before Enjolras could cut in with a sniping remark. "Because he didn't eat alone."

Enjolras, knowing that Courfeyrac was never truly flippant when he was trying to appear as though he was, took these words to heart. He went over several possible solutions in his head, and after confirming some suspicions with Courfeyrac, settled upon the answer.

An Ami for each day of the week.

Combeferre had no idea how Courfeyrac got Enjolras to agree. Courfeyrac merely said, "You should try talking to him sometime. I've got Tuesdays."

So the schedule was implemented.

It wasn't just about sex either. Even Courfeyrac, normally so amorous when it came to others, was happy to coerce Enjolras into attending the theater with him, especially when he knew something relatively trite was in town. Enjolras, normally so quiet and reserved, would lose his patience in the form of whispered, whip-like remarks that were not for anyone's ears but Courfeyrac's.

Combeferre sometimes pulled him off for lectures. Joly would try to focus on business and matters that he knew Enjolras enjoyed when Enjolras had to patiently remind Joly that tonight was his night and it ought to be up to Joly where they should spend their time.

Bahorel took him fighting, and at the end of it all Bahorel ended up with a split lip and a black eye while Enjolras looked as fresh as a daisy. The money they made went to the funds for the republic. Jehan enjoyed going out on walks with Enjolras, feeding the pigeons with him while putting up with anecdotes on Robespierre, and taking him through the Tuileries.

The only one that Enjolras would accept talking business with was Feuilly, and the two spent their night going hunting through rubbish bins and old buildings for more source material to make guns. Enjolras learned how to pry apart building frames with the best of them, more than that he found himself enjoying doing so.

It relaxed him after a stressful day.

With Bossuet, they mostly fooled around. Which was why he had no issue sharing his day with Joly when it was discovered that Grantaire was left out.

There simply weren't enough days in the week to allow for their ninth member. Fortunately, Grantaire had no idea all this was going on around him until Joly and Bossuet approached him.

"A night? Reserved just for me?"

"You'll need to talk to him about it, of course. But Joly and I will double up on Wednesday so you can have him on Thursday nights."

As it turned out, Grantaire didn't have to talk to Enjolras. Enjolras came to his table on Thursday evening at precisely 6 pm. "Joly and Laigle told me about your agreement with them."

Grantaire nodded, trying not to appear nervous. "Sit down. Please."

Enjolras hesitated but finally drew up a chair.

"How long do I have with you?"

"Until two am." It was originally when Enjolras was feeling tired that the night would end, but due to his erratic sleep schedule, the other person ended up passing out before him. A stable time had to be set. "What would you like to do?"

Grantaire slowly drew up his hand and extended it to Enjolras. "I just want to hold your hand."

"For how long?" Enjolras asked, grasping Grantaire's hand in his own. A happy sigh escaped the other man.

"For as long as I can."


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Contains Combeferre/Feuilly. Shake well. Established E/R.

* * *

They spoke in hushed voices, but Grantaire could hear the basics of their conversation from his position outside the door. It wasn't as though he didn't trust Enjolras with Combeferre. Just the opposite, really, as Enjolras likely didn't have the word 'unfaithful' in his vocabulary. But Combeferre had been sending Enjolras several apprehensive looks lately that rankled him.

Ever since Enjolras admitted to Combeferre that he had set upon a relationship with Grantaire, Combeferre had seemed to look at his friend in a different light. It was more contemplative and even a little bit more respectful.

He waited patiently to hear Enjolras' statement that he was very sorry, but he was in love with Grantaire just so he could rush into the room and deliver a hit to Combeferre.

The words never came.

Combeferre nursed a mug of coffee in his hands. It was already cooling. His mouth, which had been dry as he made his way to Enjolras' flat, wasn't so bad now. There was a feeling of relief in a way when, after being invited inside, Enjolras had listened to Combeferre explain the situation. Combeferre knew he wouldn't be judged harshly for this, but he did need some form of advice.

"It would be different if it was, say, Courfeyrac," Enjolras admitted.

"I know."

"But Feuilly is a little harder." Enjolras, unlike Combeferre, patiently drank his own coffee. "Not that it's an impossible dream."

"I would hope not. I would like to ask him out, but I'm aware that it's different than asking out a female."

"I'm unaware of the difference," Enjolras replied, unabashedly. "As it were, I'd imagine Feuilly would enjoy the same treatment as you'd give a mistress."

Combeferre gave him a look.

"Be honest with him."

"I can hardly be dishonest."

Enjolras settled his gaze into his own coffee cup. "There are ways to be. Feuilly appreciates openness. I wouldn't suggest being condescending to him."

Combeferre sighed and stood up, placing his unused coffee mug on the table. "This isn't anything I couldn't have figured out for myself! I was hoping you could, oh, I'm not sure. See something more than what I can see. You know us all well enough to classify us as abstracts and symbols. So perhaps I thought-"

"You should show him your gun collection," Enjolras interrupted. Combeferre looked back down at him. "And then you should ask him about rifles. He'll appreciate your knowledge amongst other things."

It had been the advice Combeferre wanted to hear. Something more than the usual relationship opinions he could get from any others in the Amis. Enjolras, at least, knew them well enough to recognize strengths and passions. So did Combeferre, though he knew his vision was a bit cloudy on this point due to his newfound bias. "Anything else?"

Enjolras pursed his lips in thought. "Tell him that I need his report on Notre Dame in three days."

"I meant about my relationship with him. Asking him out."

"So did I. There's your first date. The report."

"That's not very romantic."

"You aren't a very romantic man, Combeferre. Neither is Feuilly. Did you expect candlelit dinners?"

Not really. Combeferre thought those sounded a bit dull. Precious little light could ruin someone's eyesight and how would they see what they were eating? "You have a point."

"Try not to think of him in relation to a female. Just as a person."

Combeferre nodded. "Thank you for this."

When he departed, Enjolras finished up his coffee. "Combeferre didn't touch his mug. Would you like it?"

The door creaked open and Grantaire sheepisly entered the room. "Sorry about that. Interesting conversation."

"Which you're not to repeat a word of."

"Of course." He wouldn't dream of it. Just as he hadn't spoken a word about the time Feuilly came to Enjolras to inquire about Combeferre. Many of the questions his friend had made far more sense now.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: To Anonyreader - I'm sorry. I know what it's like to want more of a pairing written. I do write Enjolras/Courfeyrac in other fics, but I just really wanted to devote something to E/R. Everyone has their own tastes. I'm sure you can find plenty of other E/Fey fics out there!

Anyhoo, this drabble focuses on Enjolras' eating habits. I know, I've been terrible at posting recently.

* * *

Enjolras rarely ate in public. Combeferre, who had recognized the issue of what happened whenever he did eat, made sure that meals were kept private.

Grantaire had seen the issue first-hand only once before and he longed for a repeat performance. So when he came to Enjolras' apartment bright and early, he came prepared with a tin of brownies that were still a bit warm to the touch. Enjolras balked at first, not wishing to eat chocolate when he just woke up, but Grantaire had long since learned to get around his defenses.

"I made this specially for you!"

Cue the sad eyes and Enjolras, having no desire to hurt Grantaire's feelings, relented.

It was always better watching Enjolras eat when the man was distracted, and this time was no exception. Especially when Grantaire had no issue letting Enjolras write or read as he ate.

"I have my own thoughts to keep me entertained," Grantaire reassured him.

So Enjolras, pen in one hand, brownie in the other, set to eating. He nibbled at the corner at first, his tongue licking the harder side of the brownie, as though softening it for the rest of his mouth. The brownie touched against his lips as Enjolras paused in thought, before he slowly set to eating it, one small bite at a time.

He took it in slowly, as though savoring every centimeter of the brownie. Grantaire could easily attribute it to the archangel coming down and finding ambrosia within every piece of food for the first time. He needed little to sustain his ethereal form, certainly, but every bite was a pleasure. It would explain the small noises Enjolras made, from a simple "Mm" to a low purr in the back of his throat.

Grantaire could watch him for hours doing nothing but eating, however there was nothing better than once the brownie was done, how that pink tongue came back out to tenderly caress the tips of those pale fingers. It was all Grantaire could do to stay seated and not come closer to him and clean Enjolras' fingers with his own mouth. At the same time, there was something so intimate, so riveting when watching Enjolras do what ought to be mundane. Kids cleaned their damn fingers, and yet with Enjolras it was almost a moment of intimacy, something to be witnesses only behind closed doors.

Still, he couldn't resist the kiss that came afterwards, which he blamed on Enjolras' eyes when he had finished the brownie. They were half-lidded and Grantaire finally understood the meaning of how eyes of all things could be described as 'come-hither'.

Enjolras didn't complain either at the rough treatment he was given by Grantaire as his lover worked out the short amount of sexual tension that had cultivated while Enjolras was eating.

Though it really was distracting him from his work.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Prompt was simple for this. Relaxing day at the beach. And wow. Are we really up to 20 chapters already?

* * *

"We came here to relax."

"I am relaxing."

Relaxing included utilizing physics Grantaire couldn't begin to comprehend. He had feared that Enjolras was using graphing paper in order to finish his plans regarding the barricade, everything from resources to location to how it all had to be stacked. He hadn't seen this sort of attention to detail since 1830.

His fear had turned to surprise when Enjolras agreed to a day at the beach with him. Yet while he swam in the ocean and was tossed head over heels by the waves, Enjolras had busied himself on shore, gathering buckets of wet sand to pack up into walls.

For awhile, Grantaire was content to watch Enjolras from the sidelines. There was something he found pleasantly charming with how absorbed Enjolras could become in his work, even if it was so simple as building a sand castle. But really, he thought sand castles were a little simplistic to him. Too focused on monarchical rule. It wasn't until he recognized the little makeshift flag being carefully molded atop one of the walls that he realized what he was doing.

"We came away from Paris so that we could get away from everything regarding the revolution. Not so you can build barricades on the beach."

The miniature and very sandy version of the barricade now complete, Enjolras' attention fell back to Grantaire. "This is relaxation for me. I enjoy doing this. It's one part of the revolution that has nothing to do with violence and all about taking a stand."

"And it's lost when high tide comes in," Grantaire groused. He resisted the urge to put his foot down upon the barricade, not wanting to know what Enjolras would do.

Strike that. He had an idea of what Enjolras would do.

Rebuild. Because that's what Enjolras did and Grantaire didn't want his friend to sit on the sand forever.

Enjolras, ignoring Grantaire's mental ruminations, was now focused in placing down seashells. "This is me. This is Combeferre. This is Courfeyrac…" He went on like that, carefully lining up his friends in their respective positions before leaning over to make notes on his graph paper.

"And who is that?" Grantaire asked, pointing to a hermit crab who was starting to wander over onto Enjolras' paper.

"That's you."

The vexation of a vacation thwarted immediately left Grantaire and he felt a flush of pride at being included in the sandy barricade. "I suppose the left side can use some fixing up. I built sandcastles here when I was young. Perhaps I could…"

Enjolras shifted himself over to make room for Grantaire, and the two of them managed to fortify the barricade together until the sun started to set. The hermit crab ended up falling asleep on the abandoned graph paper.


	21. Chapter 21

AN: For Missi, a reviewer who left me a prompt! I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Dancing didn't come strongly to Prince Grantaire. He was as picky with his partners as he was with choosing a bride. While his father demanded that he find someone suitable in the kingdom, he dawdled at the task. He preferred to spend his time either within his own chambers with an easel and paint, or within one of the local taverns. He drank with the common men, keeping himself in disguise so as not to draw attention to himself. It was in the company of such rowdy sorts that he felt himself to be more at home.

It was during one of these drinking excursions that he found his attention focused upon a singular group dressed in shades of red and black.

"Don't trouble yourself with them," the bartender warned him. "They're different."

"Different how?" Far from being turned wary, Grantaire was intrigued.

"Different values. Different beliefs. Thinking that all are equal. Nothing anyone wants to hear."

Or at least nothing that anyone would speak out loud. Still, the group had caught Grantaire's eye, and he watched them speak with one another, some more flamboyantly than others. They spoke of strange ideals, the likes of which Grantaire never heard of, and while he didn't believe that all men were born equal, he certainly couldn't disparage their views when spoken with such passion.

One of the men in particular was quite a sight. At first glance, Grantaire thought the man to be female. With almost androgynous features, he drew others to him, but when he spoke, Grantaire could tell he was male. Such a deep, lyrical voice lent well to the presence of the man. He spoke in riddles to Grantaire's addled brain.

Grantaire dared not approach. He felt certain that if he did in his inebriated state, all that he'd be able to say was "Pretty" and then likely collapse.

Not the impression he wished to make.

He returned to the tavern the next night but couldn't find the young, blond man. No one in the tavern seemed to know the man's name, yet they knew his speeches fairly well. He couldn't very well ask the royal guard to seek out this man. His father would ask questions and how bad would it look for him that he was consorting with rebels?

Grantaire looked out over the large ball his father had thrown in his honor and wished he was back within that tavern. Or locked away in his rooms. Or somewhere other than here.

"May I have this dance?"

The tone, that rich, deep tone that had burned its way into Grantaire's brain and soul was overheard right behind him.

Grantaire was fairly sure that his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he turned to see the man who had haunted his dreams and his easel since he first laid eyes upon him.

The blond man looked different. Dressed as a bourgeois, he looked even more breathtaking with a done-up cravat, a form-fitting jacket, and his long hair tied back in a neat black bow.

It took Grantaire a few seconds longer than necessary to not only be able to think again, but to resist running his fingers through that hair that looked to be silken gold. "Dance. Yes. We're at a dance and so we will dance." Needless to say, his speech was just as impaired now as it was when he got drunk.

Yet all he had today was a glass of wine. Drunk on love, he decided. As he took one of the blond's hands and guided him over to the dance floor, Grantaire knew that this was what fairy tales were made of.

They moved as fluidly as possible, though it was painfully clear, to Grantaire's feet anyway, that neither of them had much experience when it came to dancing.

"What is your name?" Grantaire asked, trying to memorize every inch of this man just in case he lost sight of him again.

"Enjolras."

Enjolras. How fitting that this beautiful creature's name sounded like 'angel'. "It suits you."

Enjolras leaned closer to him, gripping Grantaire's hand a bit tighter. "I've come here to bring you a message. I believe that you're better than your father. That you can understand the people's wishes. I urge you to drop your royal title once you become king and instill a Republic."

It was difficult for Grantaire to focus on anything other than his arm around Enjolras' waist as he led the dance, but he felt a cold chill go through him at Enjolras' words. "But why?"

"Because the people deserve freedom from all tyranny, and," Enjolras reached up with a white-gloves hand to caress Grantaire's cheek, "I wish to call you Citizen Grantaire."

"I wish to call you my own," Grantaire replied breathlessly. The touch of this man felt like benediction to him. Is this how Paris felt when he beheld the beauty of Venus and the need for Helen?

"Will you do this? For me and for the people?"

Grantaire would have done anything at that point for him. He nodded and leaned down to kiss the one he'd chosen. But just before their lips could touch, the great clock tower started striking midnight.

Enjolras gently pried Grantaire's arms off of him. "I must go!"

"Wait!"

But Enjolras was already speeding past the other guests, causing a bit of a flurry. He ended up running into a large woman dressed in a gaudy purple gown with pink bows affixed to the hem of it. Her girth caused him to fall and she dropped several pieces of flatware she had been trying to steal from the feast.

Enjolras tried to get back up while apologizing to her, but the clock had finished striking midnight.

Grantaire watched in surprise as Enjolras' clothes transformed back into what he wore at the tavern. Threadbare pants, a slightly dirt shirt, a cravat that hung loosely around his neck, and his hair spilling out of his tie.

As gorgeous as Enjolras was within the usual outfit of the upper class, Grantaire thought the man looked heavenly right now.

A shame the guests at the ball didn't feel the same.

The woman Enjolras had run into was the first to point and yell. "Revolutionary! He's here to kill the king!" Her reaction drew everyone's attention away from her thievery onto Enjolras.

Enjolras didn't seem inclined to waste any more time. He scrambled to his feet and took off with the royal guard right behind him.

"Stop! Stop!" Grantaire chased after them all. "He's not here to kill anyone! He just wanted to talk! Let him talk, damn it all!" But the guardsmen couldn't hear Grantaire over the din.

Enjolras, not well-versed in the map of the castle, ran upwards onto the turrets and then into one of the towers. He was finally cornered by the guardsmen who trained their guns upon him.

Grantaire, out of breath, came into the room heaving. "Vive la Republique!" He shouted.

The guard turned to face him. "My Prince?" One of them asked.

"You will not hurt him! He is the one I've chosen to be my Princess!"

-

Grantaire was drooling again.

Enjolras watched him with a sort of fascination. He never knew a man who could sleep away hours of people talking in increasingly loud voices. Considering the many bottles residing upon the table, most of them empty, Enjolras figured Grantaire had enough help in that regard.

It still wouldn't be good to let Grantaire sleep within the Musain.

He gently shook Grantaire's shoulder. "Time to leave."

Grantaire awoke with a start, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. "I'm here, my Princess! I won't let them hurt you!"

This wasn't the strangest thing Enjolras had ever heard Grantaire utter upon waking, but it did rank up within his top ten. "Only you could dream of royalty when we spoke of nothing but the Republic here tonight."

Grantaire blinked up at him. "You were my Princess. It was a lovely world."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Welcome back to reality then. I'll walk you home."

Grantaire shuffled about in an attempt to stand. Enjolras finally had to reach down and help haul him to his feet. "There you go."

"Enjolras?"

"Hm?"

"Talk to me."

"About what?"

"About fairy tales." Grantaire wrapped an arm around Enjolras' shoulders to keep himself upright. He'd regret his actions in the morning when he was sober and nursing the hangover from hell.

"I don't know much about fairy tales."

"Make something up."

Enjolras, who had a bit more patience today than usual, talked as he walked Grantaire home. "Within fairy tales, the people tend to get what they want. The villains always get their comeuppance, and bad kings get taken down."

"And the good guys?"

"The good guys get what they desire when they work for it. They're not ashamed of standing up for what they believe in, and they're willing to jump into a fight because they want to make things better for others."

"And they never die, right?"

Enjolras graced him with a small smile. "And they never die."


	22. Chapter 22

AN: So now I have an A01 account. I've been thinking about posting just my rated M ficworks up there. Most of which are E/R related. But is there an audience for them on that site? Would anyone care? Is anyone still reading these?

Modern day AU. Established relationship.

* * *

He remembered the footfalls of the National Guard coming up the stairs. The sound of bodies hitting the floor of those who were in retreat. He had tried keeping them safe. He would block the rest with his own life if it meant doing as the people wanted. He was theirs to be used and discarded if the people or Patria so ordered it. But they came anyway, shot the ones who were trying to run, and only he had survived.

He who would give anything if it meant keeping his friends alive.

He stood against the wall, and in a flash he remembered Grantaire. A quick look at the cynic showed him that the man slept on. So be it. At least there would be one who survived them all.

As they aimed their guns, he wondered why his hand felt cold.

Enjolras awoke with a start on the windowseat. The sun was shining down upon him still, keeping him warm. Ordinarily he didn't have nightmares when he slept in the daylight. The sun felt like a beacon to him, it's warmth destroying whatever fears and shadows plagued him.

All the same…

He brought up his right hand to inspect it.

"It looks fine to me." The voice was gentle, as though the speaker was afraid of cutting into whatever personal rumination went through Enjolras' head. Grantaire slowly approached, mindful of any signal of Enjolras' that indicated he didn't want company. "A dream?"

"Something like that, yes. That you weren't there at the end. That I died alone. This would not be so terrible, but I was the only one left."

"And you saw them fall." Grantaire sat down beside him on the window seat. He reached over and took hold of Enjolras' hand. "Sometimes I think your mind hates you."

It was Enjolras who clasped his fingers against Grantaire's and pulled the other man closer into his lap. "It is what could have been and nothing more. What truly happened was a blessed event. The barricades were holy in far more ways than we realized back then. None of us died alone. We went with one another into the great beyond, and we are here to start anew. To live and to die together. There's comfort within that, no matter how bloody or devastating the death."

Grantaire couldn't disagree. There was a strange peace in knowing that even if Enjolras was to die first, he would be along right behind him. Everyone died, such was the order of things, but they were able to reunite afterwards, time and time again.

They had one another. And when they were with one another, they were free. What greater thing was there?


	23. Chapter 23

AN: To those who said they'd be happy to read some E/R porn, thank you. I will happily take any and all confidence wherever I can find it. As for my account, nothing is up there just yet. I'm not sure when I'll get around to unloading it. I'm currently in the middle of a big project, sooo...

In the meantime, have some E/R angst. Musical verse combined with book verse.

* * *

_Step by step,  
Heart to heart.  
Left, right, left.  
We all fall down.  
Like toy soldiers._

He had fallen. Grantaire's mind stopped upon his final thoughts. I love you was too trite. Too cliched. What he felt wasn't love, it was deeper. Love could fade out. It could wane. It could disappear entirely, forgotten and left to die. What he felt wasn't love. It was deeper than devotion, a veneration of all that was Enjolras, from the good to the minor flaws. He was a being of light, immortal within Grantaire's eyes, and to see that life fall upon the red flag that he had so loved was too much, too fast.

He couldn't reach for Enjolras anymore.

Enjolras had reached for him as well before death won out. Fingertips brushed against Enjolras' before Enjolras' life took him and the arm went limp.

He was beyond Grantaire's safety. He was beyond any of them.

To see such a man fall was heartbreaking. But to know that the battle went on around him, that the world continued to spin was blasphemy. One such as Enjolras didn't fall to earth every day. Grantaire had witnessed a miracle in the man, and it was gunned down by those who didn't know what they had done.

But why not? He had seen them kill the elderly. He had seen them kill a child. Why wouldn't they destroy a savior? Was this the world that Enjolras so wanted to liberate? Were these the people that he so wanted to save? These people who could not rise, their fear cost them a messiah who should have saved them all from their wretchedness.

That had been his destiny.

Grantaire believed in that with all his heart. And now he was convinced once more that there was no savior for them, that the people's destiny had changed. Shifted into a terrible one. He yearned to curse the ones that Enjolras desired to uplift. They were unworthy.

They cost him Enjolras.

And in taking Enjolras from him, they killed him as well.

Grantaire hurled the only weapon he had, his bottle, at the throng of the National Guard and raised his arms heavenward. He did not look up as Combeferre had, but down below at the body that lay strewn across the barricade.

Wherever Enjolras was now, Grantaire yearned to be taken there. Let his body be a protest as well, if not to the tyranny, than to that of devotion.


	24. Chapter 24

AN: Enjolras finds Grantaire's art of himself.

Missi - Yeah, I get where you're coming from. The previous drabble was based on musical-verse, which has its OOC moments. Not that I'm excusing my writing and all, but yeah. There are so many ways I've seen Grantaire portrayed when Enjolras dies and he carries on. TCRegan has written, I think, three different versions of what he'd do from outright snapping to suicidal.

* * *

"Careful. Easy now."

It had been awhile since Enjolras had been able to leave the house. The bullet that entered his thigh had nearly shattered the bone and walking was still such a chore. The last surgeon told him that it would be unlikely he could ever use that leg again.

Enjolras responded by attempting to walk every day. It was a small rebellion, but he had larger issues at hand than the state of his body. To say nothing of the scars upon his chest. There were times when breathing hurt as the air got stuffy in the summer, but the rest of the year he had kept to a steady pace.

Grantaire stayed by his side, aiding him throughout the recovery. Enjolras was grateful but unwilling to remain a burden to him for that much longer.

Nowadays, he was walking more and more, strengthening his leg muscles in ways he hadn't been able to for so long. It felt like pins and needles most of the time, but the pain was a mere physical sensation, unworthy of too much thought. Enjolras had to relearn his own limits, so he had ventured forth with Grantaire to collect a few items from Grantaire's old apartment.

He was helped up the stairs a bit, and felt a thin slice of victory when they reached the top.

Grantaire's apartment was in the same shape in which it was left before the failed rebellion. Grantaire left him to dig through his room and Enjolras was free to explore the place. There wasn't much to it save for a room stuffed full of canvases. He was glad that his friend hadn't given up his dream, but the paintings upon the canvases were what made him take notice.

He felt as though he had stepped into a shrine devoted to himself. Portraits of him giving speeches, looking into the sun, in a variety of poses. He'd never seen so much of himself, and he wondered if Grantaire had stopped painting while he had been recuperating.

What would Grantaire think he looked like now?

His fingers brushed against one of the portraits as he traced the outline of his hair. They were meticulously detailed with the colors vibrant even though they'd been left alone for so long.

"You haven't changed."

Grantaire's voice dominated the room but Enjolras didn't turn to face him.

"You're still the same man. If there was a difference at all, I'd say you'd be wiser. But you didn't let the dream die."

Enjolras allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. "The dream can never die. We anticipated the risk of failure. We went through it knowing what could happen. It did. And now we move forward."

"We?"

"You, myself, and the people." He tapped his cane on the floor. "Will you bring all of this back with you?"

Grantaire shifted, embarrassed. "If you want me to."

"I could think of no better place for them than on display. Ah, but that would be narcissistic."

"Such an artist I am! To decorate the walls with my own paintings." A bit more timidly. "You really enjoy them?"

"I do. I find them uplifting. A reminder of the past. A keepsake of the youth. How can we go forward if we have nothing to spring from? That and I quite admire your work."

Grantaire embraced him from behind, burrowing his face into the back of Enjolras' coat. "I've painted the others as well."

"We should hang them as well. Let them watch over us in paint as they do in spirit. I won't have it any other way."


	25. Chapter 25

AN: Prompt was that E/R are watching a "Les Mis" soap opera. ...What? I have fun friends. Modern AU, of course. It's a short drabble, admittedly.

Have also made an account on archiveofourown dot com. Will be posting more of my rated M fics there under the user name 'the angry warlock'. It's a WoW thing.

* * *

'And now back to As the Barricades Fall, So Do Our Feels.'

Enjolras idly contemplated smothering himself with a pillow. It was rare for him to come down with an illness. Rarer still for him to allow another to aid him that wasn't Combeferre, but since getting together with Grantaire, the man just insisted on being the one to take care of him.

The soup had been delicious and Grantaire kept up a never ending supply of tissues and water. Even his company was decent since he was learning when to be quiet and when to talk. Though throughout the morning, he took to reading to Enjolras.

He had been such a wonderful companion that Enjolras told him to feel free to watch his little marathon TV show. He didn't ask much about it, figuring it to be garbage and something that he could easily fall asleep to.

As it turned out, Grantaire really enjoyed soap operas and today they were playing several hours worth of his favorite.

The plot was predictable and everyone kept dying. Some died multiple times. The dialogue was absurdly long to the point where monologues took over five minutes to get through. The love triangle was just slow and badly paced.

Enjolras fell asleep during one of the more climactic scenes only to be woken up the sound of gunshots.

"Really?"

"Shhh, this is where Eddie and Geoff die together!"

Enjolras pulled the covers up over his head and wished that he could have a boyfriend who just watched Nascar.


	26. Chapter 26

AN: Prompt was that between Enjolras and Grantaire, one of them gets his letter to Hogwarts. The other one doesn't.

* * *

Grantaire read the letter out loud.

"I don't understand it. I'm supposed to be a wizard?" The idea baffled him. His parents never said anything like this. Did his parents even know? True, he could make a few things happen without meaning to. Silly little things like making a cookie float down from atop the fridge.

"I guess so." Enjolras read the letter over Grantaire's shoulder. "And you'll get to go to school and learn real magic."

"But what if I don't like it there?"

"Of course you'll like it there! You get to learn magic." Enjolras was taking the news far better than Grantaire. "You'll get to learn how to shoot laser beams from your eyes! And how to fly!"

Flying didn't sound too appealing to Grantaire. In fact, it sounded terrifying. "But why can't you come with me?"

Enjolras shrugged. "I guess I'm not a wizard."

"You'd be more of one than I am!"

"I bet you'll be a great one!"

Grantaire didn't look too sure. He gnawed on his lip in rumination. "I guess. But I'll miss you."

"Maybe I can visit you. And you'll be back in the summer! I'll write you all year and when you come back, you can show me your eye laser beams!"

Grantaire wasn't quite sure why Enjolras was so hung up over lasers. "All right…maybe I'll become so great that I could teach you how to fly." The idea appealed to him on several levels. He would get more attention from Enjolras, and with the two of them high up in the air, far from any obligations and alone…it was a giddy thought for him. He wondered if he should ask for a kiss before he left.

The sound of Grantaire's name startled them both. It was only his mother calling him back in for dinner. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" Enjolras asked.

Grantaire nodded. "The guy says he's coming to pick me up on Wednesday. I want to spend as much time with you as possible."

Enjolras grinned. "Same. You'll be the greatest wizard in the world."

The confidence and assured tone of Enjolras was more than enough to settle Grantaire's anxiety. He left his friend and headed off inside.

Enjolras, watching the setting sun, figured it was time for him to get back as well. He walked back into the city where a small section of a cut off barricade stood. He opened up an invisible door and stepped into his Tardis.

The wheels of fate were already in motion and soon one of the greatest wizards that ever came out of Hogwarts would bring about the end to tyranny on this planet.

He had seen it all before.


	27. Chapter 27

AN: Enjolras/Grantaire + Gavroche family moment. This is also musical based, though it's more based upon Jason Forbach (Enjolras) and Joseph Spieldenner's (Grantaire) actions within the US tour cast. Mind you, I'm basing it on actions, not on the actors.

For JanuaryBaby192 who wanted more Gavroche!

* * *

Enjolras was used to high emotions. At the barricade, passions raced with every heartbeat. They were living life on a dangerous edge, some may be destined to fall, others to rise. Luck and chance were the wild cards and lives were constantly on the line. They had already survived the first attack and had seen a few losses. The smell of death mingled with the gun smoke.

A few drinks were passed around, and Grantaire, having had enough of sitting within his own quiet corner, had finally let spring his own exclamations that drew the ire of a few other men.

Enjolras, still with his ear to the ground to listen for the impending wagon wheels that carried the cannon, listened halfway to the pulse upon his own men. The tone of dissension was what sent him on his way, and he blocked Feuilly from doing physical harm to Grantaire.

Tempers were not needed here, so he took the brunt of Grantaire's drunken ramblings while Gavroche watched on the side. He wasn't sure what was on the gamin's mind considering the boy had witnessed the final breaths of his sister, but right now, what was needed was a firm hand on Grantaire.

Grantaire gave him the opportunity when he snatched at Enjolras' waistcoat. Enjolras covered Grantaire's hand with his own and whispered, "You don't want him to see you like this."

Immediately Grantaire's eyes widened and he released Enjolras' clothes. Hesitantly, however, as though fearful of the man slipping away from him if he let go.

Enjolras traded a look at Gavroche, and the boy immediately took his cue and moved toward Grantaire. Skillfully, he guided the man away from the others.

Enjolras watched them for a time, making sure that both were being taken care of in their own way. For now, he couldn't be included. Gavroche would keep watch over Grantaire and he would keep watch over Paris.


	28. Chapter 28

AN: Five times Grantaire tried to sleep with Enjolras.

* * *

The first time, Grantaire was drunk. His rambling diatribe went on for a good ten minutes. Enjolras wasn't quite sure what to say to him as he was still trying to go through what the tirade was about. His scrutiny with Grantaire was intense. "You're saying you had a bad chicken wing, the king is akin to Odysseus and your pants are too tight? Well, the last part is easily solved. Just speak to Bahorel about that. As for the first, I am quite sorry to hear that. You should go home and rest."

The second time required a lack of subtlety. Grantaire asked that Enjolras walk him home. When they were at Grantaire's doorstep, Grantaire moved in front of him. "One moment, please. I need to tidy up."

"There's really no need for that."

"I insist. You can come in when I call you." With that, Grantaire hastily went inside. Enjolras, wishing to be a proper guest, patiently waited outside, contemplating his next move.

"You can come in now."

Enjolras opened up the door to see Grantaire, entirely naked save for a well-placed tricolor ribbon and a rose in his mouth.

Enjolras turned around and left.

The third time hadn't been the best for either involved. It was right after the 1830s barricade and Enjolras was still in a horrible mood. After ranting to Grantaire for a good hour, Grantaire, bored of politics, suggested that they go off to bed where he'd let Enjolras through his barricade.

Enjolras responded by flipping over the table and leaving.

The fourth time was after another riot. Both of them were running from the gendarmes and a few royalists who were less than pleased with their antics.

When pausing to catch their breath, Grantaire drew Enjolras into an alley and kissed him. Enjolras, still brimming with adrenaline, returned it, but when Grantaire tried to go further, Enjolras gently pushed him off. "Not yet."

The fifth time had been at one of Courfeyrac's parties. Enjolras had swore he would never attend another, but Courfeyrac was frightfully hard to say no to. Grantaire had spiked the drink once again and Enjolras had partaken without knowing its effects.

The night was memorable in all the wrong ways. It was the first time firemen had ever come to Courfeyrac's apartment.

Later on, Grantaire couldn't bring himself to take advantage. He wanted it but never in such a way. Enjolras was his to protect, after all.

Enjolras was his point blank.

It wasn't until after the barricades of 1832 as they moved atop the barricade to look out over the the view of the National Guard surrendering that Enjolras took Grantaire's hand in his own.

"Tonight," he whispered.

Tonight was all Grantaire needed.


	29. Chapter 29

AN: Grantaire joins the Patron-Minette.

* * *

He didn't really like any of them. Montparnasse reminded him of Courfeyrac, but without the charm and warmth of his friend, there was only a pale imitation. Claquesous reminded him only a small bit of Enjolras, he supposed. The quietness, the way he could command the others. And yet everything felt wrong. The burly one, Grantaire didn't bother learning his name, had Bahorel's strength but without the brains behind it. And Babet? Well. Grantaire wasn't sure where to place him.

The worst part of the group were their aims. They had very little aims.

Stay out of prison. Grantaire was fairly adept at doing that.

Rob and kill people. A complete polar direction of what Grantaire had been doing before.

Uplifting humanity, however, ended with most of his friends dead and the reason why he was doing all that he could now to bring about more money. What else had he to lose? He had far more to gain by selling his soul to the devil.

He proved to be an adept hunter, maneuvering here and there amongst the victims. He couldn't bring himself to slit any throats except those who Courfeyrac had deemed as Ultras. Those throats…he almost scared himself with the amount of pleasure he derived while he watched them gurgle their last breath. They always carried such fat purses.

Ah, but the money. He didn't spend it on wine and women as the others did. He took his earnings and gave half to the gamins running about and the other half…

Well. The other half went to pay for any medical treatments Enjolras would need and to the girl who would sit by Enjolras' side while Grantaire went out on his excursions.

On the day in which Enjolras would open his eyes, would walk, and would be without the fevers that kept him in bed, Grantaire would quit this group of thugs. But until then, it was best that he remained in their company. If this was the only way he could make certain that Enjolras stayed alive, then so be it.

What were their lives compared to his anyway?


	30. Chapter 30

A press of the hand can mean many things.

Grantaire often watched with quiet jealousy when Enjolras touched another. Combeferre was the main recipient. Sometimes they would touch hands, other times one would grasp the other's arm. They were often close enough to touch cheek to cheek when pouring over a book or a newspaper. Personal space was never an issue with Combeferre.

Courfeyrac would be the more abrasive of them all. He would embrace Enjolras from behind. Or he would adjust an article of clothing without any hesitation. He could kiss Enjolras upon the cheek without fear of recrimination.

The others would talk to Enjolras as they would any other. Feuilly was one of the few that enjoyed arguing with him over this and that, but the arguments were always bereft of anger or any harsh passion. They would debate and discuss and it would normally end with a smile or the conversation dissolving into weaponry.

Bahorel would clasp Enjolras' shoulder or smack him on the back as a friendly greeting.

It was only Grantaire who kept his distance honed out of respect or out of fear of disappointing his idol.

Sometimes he thought about how Enjolras would feel. Warm as any human, warmer due to him practically being the personification of light? As hard as marble?

And when the last few seconds came upon his life and Enjolras grasped his hand, Grantaire thought the sensation would kill him before the bullets. Enjolras felt warm, calm, assured. And the final squeeze of Grantaire's fingers spoke more than words ever could.

'I accept you.'

Grantaire was at home and at peace before his soul left his body.


	31. Chapter 31

AN: Barriere du Maine aftermath.

* * *

"You don't understand!" Grantaire gestured far too wildly with the bottle in his hand. His hands were shaking not with drunkenness but of a fear that went through his soul. It made his palms sweaty, and the suddenness of his movement sent the bottle spiraling out of his grip. It smashed onto the street, shattering into pieces.

"I went with the full intention of doing what I said! Why would I fight so hard for a chance? Why would I beseech you for this opportunity if I always knew I wouldn't try to live up to it? And I tried, Enjolras, I tried! I went there and I spoke but they laughed and so I thought to take their money instead of their loyalty. Ah, but think of how much we can buy with this money! I won't even spend any of it on wine. I'll give it all to you! Every last sous! And you can buy your ammunition with it! You can even use it maybe to pay someone's rent? Someone far less fortunate than me?"

Enjolras stood by, his hands clasped behind his back, looking at Grantaire with a completely neutral expression. He said nothing so Grantaire went on, feeling more and more desperate.

"I didn't mean to do what I did, of course. The pull of the drinks, the games. They're much like us in many ways. So I wasn't sure if they'd need so much convincing. And I was caught up in feeling what I do within our own cafe. The fun of it all, the chance to live life. Have you ever played dominoes before? I should teach you! Once you get into their hearts with fun and merriment, then you can get into their heads with your talk of politics. I thought to try it the other way, but it was doomed for failure!"

Still, Enjolras said nothing.

Grantaire tried to smile but it fell flat. "Here. Take the earnings!" He held out the bag to Enjolras, knowing full well that Enjolras would not.

Enjolras couldn't be bought off.

There was no look of disappointment or even of resignation. Grantaire wished to see anger, some spark of emotion that told him where he still stood with Enjolras.

Instead, Enjolras merely turned and walked away, leaving a trail of abysmal silence between the two. He couldn't have known that it was his silence that so wounded Grantaire. He had taken his soaring away from the cynic, leaving him with a bag of earnings that felt far too heavy in his hand.

He would give the money to Courfeyrac and not tell him where it came from. To purchase drink with the earnings felt as though he would be poisoning himself.

A week then and he'd be ready to go back to the Musain, where Enjolras would speak to the others, and yet even though his words were broad and out-reaching, it would feel as though he spoke to all but one.


	32. Chapter 32

AN: Enjolras rips his pants. He had to borrow a pair of Grantaire's. Not as dirty as you're thinking it would be. For those who are tired of the angst.

Lake - I get my prompts from my friends over on our DW community. Your prompt has been noted and will be fulfilled soon. Keep checking back. I'm glad you're enjoying these.

* * *

It was a sterling, moving speech. Enjolras' voice was more lilting than unyielding, lending the impromptu words an almost divine air. He was melodic and stirring. He reached heights most could only dream of achieving.

It was a pity no one was listening to him.

Joly and Bossuet came to the same conclusion concerning Enjolras' pants. They had seen the pair on Grantaire often enough to recognize them. Not to mention the belt had been tightened due to them being far too broad for their friend. There was only one conclusion as to why those pants were on Enjolras now. It had been late, and they had switched clothes in the dark after a round of sex. They knew this from experience.

Courfeyrac, who knew of Enjolras' chasteness all too well, was forming his own conclusions. There existed a small known style for those who enjoyed wearing loose clothing in the summer months, believing that the skin had more room to breathe. Perhaps Enjolras was adopting said style and Grantaire would only be too happy to provide.

Feuilly had to wonder if this was Enjolras' way of further relating to the plight of the poor. He would have to tell him that there were better ways of going about doing so instead of adopting their clothing.

Prouvaire found the mismatching clothing to be Enjolras' way of celebrating his own sense of style. He would have to suggest a few new waistcoats for his friend after the meeting.

Bahorel figured that Enjolras had been chased by enough fangirls to realize that tight pants only succeeded in attracting the wrong kind of attention. How like his friend to take the extreme polar opposite! Of course Grantaire would provide, considering the tight pants the man had on now.

Combeferre kept his theories to himself, not wanting to dwell on any one conclusion. He would make his inquiries later on tonight when they went back home, but his narrow-eyed gaze kept drifting to Grantaire who was looking all too smug.

And Grantaire? The only thing going on in his head at this point was not why all eyes seemed to be moving from him to Enjolras and then back to him. Nor was he entirely focused on Enjolras' words for the first time. Instead, all he thought was, "He's in my pants!"


	33. Chapter 33

AN: The prompt was that Enjolras finds Grantaire's shrine for him. Because you know Grantaire has one.

Lake - Your prompt has been written. Unfortunately, it was too big for a drabble. It's now a fic called Lenore. Hope you like.

* * *

Enjolras was worried.

In retrospect, Combeferre thought, Enjolras being worried tended to be the mainstay as to why they ended up in certain predicaments. Right now, Enjolras was worried about Grantaire. The work for the Republic had been going well for the most part, allowing Enjolras time to focus on other matters.

Other matters tended to include the usual question of what was to be done about Grantaire. "He seems more melancholic than usual, Combeferre. Perhaps we ought to check on him."

This was not a strange suggestion from Enjolras. The man could possess a remarkable singularity when it came to discerning hidden traits about his friends. He saw potential where others did not, and sometimes he saw problems that slid by another. Combeferre tended to indulge him.

Perhaps tended is the wrong word.

Combeferre frequently indulged him. He liked seeing the softer dimensions of his friend. He enjoyed encouraging him to open up a bit more, knowing that none of his friends would rebuke him harshly. They had only known the other Amis for a year now, and Enjolras was just fine with speaking on politics with them.

Personal matters were something entirely different.

So Combeferre found himself breaking into Grantaire's apartment with Enjolras that night because no one was answering when Enjolras knocked on the door.

"Maybe he's asleep?" Combeferre suggested, but Enjolras shook his head.

"Just to check on him."

It ended with them inside Grantaire's room, its sole occupant nowhere to be found, and a large shrine within one room wholly dedicated to Enjolras. Aside from portraits and paintings conveying his friend's figure, Combeferre was horrified to find used tissues, old clothes that Enjolras had long since thrown out, and even something that looked like fingernail clippings.

He turned around just in time to see Enjolras step through the doorway of the room, and prayed that seeing such a sight wouldn't put off his fairly introverted friend anymore.

Not that he could blame him.

Not that he could blame him at all!

He would have to have words with Grantaire. This was bordering on the insane.

"Oh. It's to me, I suppose." Enjolras' assessment came in the form of a rather wistful tone as he looked at the paintings. "These aren't bad at all. I figured he had talent, but I didn't think it would be in painting. It's always good to see another part of someone."

"Let us leave here," Combeferre said, hoping Enjolras wouldn't note the desperation in his voice.

"We shall. He isn't here, ah, but there is something missing."

And to Combeferre's horror, Enjolras picked up a pair of scissors lying nearby.

When Grantaire returned home, he saw that his door was unlocked. Rushing inside, he hastened to make sure that his collection of bottles were untouched. Only after did he think to check the shrine.

Nothing within it was out of place, but there were several neatly cut strands of golden hair left upon the desk.


	34. Chapter 34

AN: Enjolras and Grantaire survive the 1832 barricades and into the 1848 revolution.

Guest - I can't tell if you're a troll or if you're being serious. Just in case you're being serious, I promise you that the next E/R fic or drabble I write that contains any form of sex will have Grantaire as the 'seme' if we're to use anime terms. And you can be certain that he'll enjoy putting more of Enjolras' footprints on the ceiling.

* * *

They shouldn't have been there. The scars on Enjolras' chest spoke of that.

They shouldn't have failed so long ago on the '32 barricades. The lack of their friends spoke of that.

Still, Enjolras could hear the sound of Combeferre's voice on the wind as the barricades rose again. The old familiar adages of his friend seemed to rumble out of every voice. And yet, when the booming noise got to its highest pitch and the cannons were brought out, Enjolras couldn't help but turn to the others and mocked the instrument of such devastation because the one who would do it instead wasn't present.

The wounded were tended to and the science of the revolution was shown in the fewer lives that were lost.

They should not have won in '48, but the people spoke out against that.

Grantaire brought him a loaded rifle with a grim smile.

"Don't get yourself shot this time," he whispered.

They were the last of their friends, both polar extremes of one another. Each one was the other's savior, one in spirit and the other in flesh.

When the day was won, they joined hands once more.

Due to their views, they shouldn't have been together. But their love conquered that.


End file.
